


And One Little Cotton-Ball (All on His Own)

by MissWonnykins



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Child Abandonment, Found Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28455081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissWonnykins/pseuds/MissWonnykins
Summary: The holidays always bring out feelings Bede would rather ignore. This year, however, he caves.Some questions don't have good answers.---In which Bede finally tries to figure out what happened to his parents, simultaneously losing and gaining family over the course of one night.
Relationships: Beet | Bede & Poplar | Opal
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	And One Little Cotton-Ball (All on His Own)

Bede’s first memory was around two years old. He remembers being very small and very scared, and he remembers the cold.

They tried abandoning him out in the Wild Area. Tried, but failed. He figures, now that he’s older, that they probably never thought it’d work to begin with. They just wanted to try, just to see what it would feel like and how they’d cope.

It turned out that they could cope quite well, because perhaps two years later they sat him down on the steps of a church in Hammerlocke and just left. The two of them, arms tightly around one another as if  _ they _ needed the comfort. Once again, it was cold. It was winter both times that his parents up and left him to fend for himself. Maybe that was when money was the tightest. He wouldn’t know...he never got the chance to ask, obviously.

He made a nuisance of himself there at the orphanage. They were already filled to capacity; it was easy to become overlooked. He had to fight and claw his way through the others to be seen, and still it wasn’t enough. 

Eventually, though, being scrappy paid off: the chairman came to visit (a good look; the big time energy provider visiting orphaned children looked VERY good in the press). 

The idea was to temporarily provide captured Pokemon for the children to try out battling for the first time. Bede remembers the feeling of the ball in his hand, how  _ right  _ that felt. Commanding Solosis came like a second nature - it listened to his every word, fought beautifully. Bede came out on top - he was not the biggest nor the most well-loved child there, but in that moment he was the  _ best _ . Chairman Rose was impressed. An eight-year-old Bede was allowed to keep his at-first-temporary partner Pokemon. He remembers the feeling of disbelief and elation as the man crouched down to his level and put a hand on his shoulder. “I see a lot of potential in you, young man.” Rose murmured, his face so kind (so  _ plastic _ , an older Bede knows now), “I think you could benefit from Macros. What do you say? Come with me.”

It was wonderful, packing up his things and thinking he was finally wanted.

He was able to delude himself for several years, too.

The truth of it wasn’t clear until he made the mistake of destroying Stow-on-Side’s mural. Bede pushed a lot of the little things to the side up until being disqualified - and unofficially disowned, but he was never really Rose’s son to begin with was he? It was after he was frisked for his collection of Wishing Stars and his Dynamax band that it came crashing down, and suddenly he was four years old watching yet another parent walk away from him.

“Call me Rose.” The man had told him, fresh faced and new to Macros, after one slip up of the word ‘father’. It was said with a smile, a gentle let down, but it was a refusal. Distance. So he called him ‘Chairman’ from then on.

It was being refused an audience with Rose by Olenna time and time again. A woman who didn’t have any emotion about doing it, who seemed tired of the farce that Bede refused to call a farce. “Chairman Rose cannot drop everything just for you.” She told him when he was ten and wanted some direction and critique on his battling. He’d accepted that, because the Chairman was a busy man. 

It was overhearing Rose speaking with Victor and the man not being able to recall his name. Bede doesn’t remember what his own excuse for that was, but he’d ignored it.

The man who never really wanted to be his father tossed him away like trash at the drop of a hat, and Bede finally saw that he’d been used and nothing more. He stalked back from Stow-on-Side on his own, kept his head high until he finally got to a point where there were no lurking trainers. Then he threw back his head and screamed, a frustrated and rage-filled sound that sent wild Pokemon around him heading for the hills. 

And oh, how the humiliation  _ burned _ .

He had to drag himself about with his chin up and his confidence still bursting at the seams; a show of weakness would have the world on him like vultures, and he wouldn’t allow himself to be torn to shreds. He never heard it from Victor, from Hop, from the other challengers, but he could see it on their faces:  _ “Serves you right.” _

He hadn’t been above groveling to get back his endorsement - his  _ parent _ \- when Opal showed up with other plans. She startled him with her dire need to have him, to take him under her wing and make him her successor. Bede went from being willing to beg to being someone’s prodigy within moments, a whirlwind that swept him up and threatened to bring him to the brink because no, he wasn’t ready to do this all over again. He wasn’t willing or able to be shaped and molded into something only to be cast away when he’d served a purpose...or failed at it, given his track record. 

But off he went anyway, undergoing a heavy amount of shockingly extensive training to become the Fairy Gym Leader. It was physical, it was mental - he knew every Fairy-Type Pokemon back to front by the time the tournament in Wyndon Stadium was set to start. Gothorita he released - it wasn’t that he didn’t care for her any longer, but she clearly sensed his changing tide and seemed listless in his care. He found a place in the Wild Area for her to be with her fellows and wished her well. 

Duosion, however…

There were days where he’d pull up his boxes on his Rotom phone and stare at the last slot where Duosion sat. It didn’t know why he wouldn’t use it anymore, couldn’t understand, and Bede knew he owed it the closure it deserved. It was different from Gothorita...he’d caught Gothorita. Solosis was a gift...a promise.

One day, he’d told himself over and over and over, he’d fix it. He’d pull Duosion back out of that box and give it the position it rightfully was owed back on his team.

The tournament began in Wyndon Stadium, however, and Bede flew off from Ballonlea sans his first Pokemon. The irony of abandoning it was not lost on him.

He lost, of course, and it nearly cost him his new career. He’d been prepared to lose it, even glad to...but it changed when people began to scream his name. To know that there were folks who wanted him as their Fairy Leader confused him...though perhaps it was more about being wanted at all rather than his career. Even Victor seemed relieved when Bede caved and stated he had no intention of really quitting. 

Harder to face than Victor, that day, was Opal upon returning to the gym. He expected her anger and exasperation - he’d abandoned his post to pursue some twisted form of revenge, after all, and it was televised that he was practically begging for an excuse to leave the Fairy Gym. He steeled himself before her, waited for the other shoe to drop.

But Opal simply smiled.

“You put up a very good fight, child. Most impressive for how little time it’s been since changing your battling techniques. I can see I’ve made the right choice.”

It is, perhaps, the kindest thing an adult has ever said specifically to him. 

It should’ve been then that he let his guard down with her, to allow her to be the family he needed and the one she clearly wanted to be to him...but Bede had been bitten one too many times and the urge to keep what was left of his heart safe from what he felt was the inevitable abandonment wouldn’t let him love her. She opened her home to him, gave him a bedroom that was a far cry from the stark and sleek one he’d known at Macros Cosmos. This one was full of handsome wooden furniture, lamps with painted glass shades that cast warm light, and a window with a cushioned bench that looked out into the eerie but beautiful Glimwood Tangle. It smells of tea all the time. The blankets are soft and plentiful on his bed and make him feel warm in a way he can’t recall ever feeling before.

They take meals together, and Opal gradually teaches him to cook for himself. She does it slyly - sometimes fluffing up the lesson by saying that it’ll be good for his training, sometimes by implying that she’s just rubbish and perhaps Bede can do better. Bede isn’t stupid, but she isn’t doing it because she thinks he is. Her aged hands gently guide him along. The results are never perfect, but Bede always feels as if he’s done something good. Perhaps it’s the way she smiles at him when they finally sit down. 

Things go downhill in the winter. 

Galar’s cold seasons are merciless, and even the thick foliage of the Tangle cannot protect Ballonlea from the chill and the snow that batters the rest of the region. Residents begin to decorate for the upcoming holiday, and Bede withdraws. He finds excuses not to help Opal decorate her -  _ their _ \- home; it seems to hurt her feelings a little, but something about even stepping in to help her string holly along the mantle makes him want to run away. 

He knows what it is, deep down.

It’s a week before Christmas when he disembarks from a Corviknight cab out into the snowy streets of Wyndon. The children playing at the steps of the church are foreign to him - he sees no familiar faces, and is relieved. They’re not who he wants to see, anyway.

The man who’s brought to see him has aged terribly. Bede has no fond feelings for him - years of taking in every stray child within range has perhaps dulled the Father’s will to bond with them...or perhaps he never had one to begin with. Likewise, there’s no happy recognition in the old man’s face as he looks upon Bede. 

“I didn’t think we’d be seeing you again.” He says, instead, sinking into a spot beside Bede in the pew. The church is empty - services will begin in earnest in a couple of days. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself, Bede.”

They sit in silence. The Father crosses himself, but Bede doesn’t pray. Part of it is stubbornness, but part of it is simply a lack of belief. After a few moments, the man beside him shifts in place restlessly. “Why are you here, my son?”

_ ‘I am no one’s son.’ _ “I think you know why.” Bede feels himself reply, keeping his eyes on the altar. 

The pew creaks a little. “...You know that isn’t something that we can do for you.” 

“You mean that there’s legalities against telling me.” Bede sharply corrects him, finally tearing his gaze away to face the man. Arceus, but the Father looks ancient. Images of Opal flitter before him and he brushes them away. “You know who they are.”

“Bede,” Sighs the priest, shutting his eyes, “Bede, Bede, Bede...my son, you know that won’t give you any answers.”

“It certainly will.” The boy insists, feeling his hands curl into fists. “I want to know why.”

“That is...a dangerous question.”

“I don’t care.”

The man laughs, a humorless cough of a laugh that sends him into a small fit. When he finally comes out of it, he shakes his head in defeat. “You never really did care much for the reasons, did you? Such a scrappy boy...many a white hair of mine is due to you, you know.”

“I’m not here to reminisce with you about how put upon you were with me.” Snaps Bede, familiar anger boiling up in his throat. “I know. I’ve dealt with people being fed up with my existence my whole life. Why do you think I ended up on your plate to begin with?”

Silence falls. The old man finally turns to look at him, and for the first time Bede can ever recall he looks remorseful. The Father wets his lips, carefully choosing his words. “...Do pardon me, child...I understand your anger. It was never my intention to make you feel like a burden.”

“Yes, well.” Bede looks away, unable to take the pity any longer. “...Who were they, Father? Where can I find them?”

With a sigh, the man heaves himself up and beckons for Bede to follow. “This is a mistake, child…”

“Then allow me to make it for myself and learn from it.” Is the immediate response. The Father only shakes his head, falling silent.

Several hours later, Bede stands before the far smaller steps of a row-home in Circhester.

Circhester, predictably, is the place to be for holiday festivities. There are fairy lights on every building, red bows on every lamp post and snow man and Snom. A wreath on every door. A beautiful and towering Christmas Tree right in the center of town. Bede can hear a group of carolers making rounds several streets away, but they’re the least of his concerns.

“They’re here, then?”

He nearly falls flat on his arse. Trust the old Woobat of Ballonlea to sneak up on him when he least expects it. He whirls around, bewildered. “Opal--?”

She’s dressed for the weather, a thick but stylish woolen hat pulled over the majority of her hair and a puffy coat swallowing her frail body up. Opal slowly turns her gaze up to the row-home - its own fairy lights are a warm white, its wreath strung with holly and pine cones. There’s a tiny statue of St. Nick himself standing beside the door, cheeks red and jolly. The old woman looks it all over before nodding. “It’s quite a lovely home, isn’t it?”

Bede doesn’t answer, finally staring up at the lit windows again. The steps are shoveled and salted, but he can see a smattering of footprints headed up them anyway. Inside, there’s muted laughter. He steels himself, and then climbs up onto the porch to face the door. 

“Bede.” He doesn’t turn to look at her, but stays still to show he’s listening. “...Are you prepared?”

_ ‘No.’ _ He thinks. “Yes.” He says, and then raises his hand to knock at the door.

It takes several moments, during which his heart pounds in his ears. Then the door swings open, spilling light and laughter out into the chilly winter air. Bede holds his breath, and the man who looks down at him suddenly looks as if he’s seen a ghost.

A two-year-old Bede would’ve called this man ‘Papa’. A four-year-old Bede would have run to him.

But Gym Leader Bede of Ballonlea can only stare silently as his father takes in the sight of him on the front step. The way he holds himself is all Bede. His father...he’s a musician, he remembers now. They stare at one another, sizing each other up.

“Darling?” And Bede’s entire body shudders; a woman comes to lean against the man’s side, white hair spilling down over her breast. His mother looks just like him. Or, rather...Bede looks just like her. She finally looks in his direction, her eyes the same shade of violet as his own, and Bede watches the breath leave her at once. “Oh…”

The laughter inside their home goes on - that’s Bede’s family, his uncles and his aunts and his grandparents, probably - but the silence between the three of them stretches on for what seems like eons.

At long last, his father shifts in place - his arm curls tightly around his wife’s shoulders, as if he’s protecting her from something. It reminds Bede of the day they left him for good, how they held one another as if their world were ending. “...You’re…”

“Bede.” He hears himself utter. “But I’m hoping you already knew that.”

The two adults exchange glances with one another. Neither of them make a move in his direction, and Bede tries to tell himself that that doesn’t sting. Not even a little. 

“You’ve...grown.” Says his father, strained and reluctant. He seems to think better of it, then, and hurriedly rushes on. “I-- we’ve seen you on the telly. You’re a Gym Leader, now?”

Bede’s hands curl into fists in his pockets. “...I am.” He answers, quietly. “It’s been...harder to keep up with you both, I confess. Are you...well?”

He doesn’t understand. They aren’t living in poverty at all. They have a house full of people enjoying one another’s company. Bede, meanwhile, is standing out in the cold.

“Mum?”

And then it all shatters.

The little girl who wriggles her way between the legs of her parents cannot be more than five years old, her hair in golden ringlets and her eyes the same bright violet as her mother’s...and as Bede’s. She stares up at him, familiar eyes widening. “You’re Bede!” She says. “Mummy! It’s Bede! I saw you on the telly with your Rapidash! I did, didn’t I daddy?”

“That you did.” The man tells her, strained smile on his face. Bede’s mother won’t look at him at all; she’s begun to chew her lip, her eyes on the floor. “Millie-- Millie, sweetheart, why don’t you go see what your gran is up to, hm?”

But Millie -  _ my sister she’s my sister why did they have another child--  _ \- looks irritated at the idea. “What? But--!”

“Go, Millie.” Her mother snaps, and the girl looks hurt until she reaches down to touch her golden hair. “Please. I...perhaps you can speak with Bede some other time.”

He watches the little girl huff, sees her look back up to him. “...Maybe we can visit your gym? And you can show me your Pokemon, then? Please?”

Bede feels as if he’s choking.

“...Yes.” The word feels like glass in his throat. “If you’d like.”

She runs off at once, squealing with delight to tell ALL her family about her encounter. Bede wants to sink into the ground where he stands. 

“Bede…” 

His gaze snaps up, taking in the faces of his parents. They look guilty, they look apprehensive...and Bede feels his anger surge forward.

“You had another baby…?”

His mother looks away at once, half her face tucked into his father’s arm. The man’s face hardens, eyes cast to their feet. “...We…” He clears his throat. “We were...in a much better position…”

“So you didn’t think to try and get me back?” Bede asks, and takes satisfaction in seeing them flinch as if branded by hot irons. “Was I of that little value to you? This--my whole life, I’ve wondered what made you leave me. I waited to see if you’d ever come back. You were never going to, were you? The moment you were able, you had another child and replaced me…!”

It hurts. It hurts so much more than he ever thought meeting them again would. It feels as if they’ve abandoned him for a third time, and his raw hurt from being tossed aside by Chairman Rose comes crashing back down on him. When in the world was he ever going to be enough for someone…? For ANYONE? 

“We…” His mother’s breath hitches. “Oh...please...please understand, Bede, darling--”

“DON’T YOU DARE--!” He roars, and at last the happy laughter ebbs away behind them. The carolers, ever nearer, are quieted. Even the snow falls with less noise. Hot tears spill from his eyes. “Don’t you dare call me that! Don’t call me ‘darling’, like you raised me and sheltered me and LOVED me…!”

“Easy now--”

“No!” He cuts his father off with a swipe of his hand. “Don’t…! You’ve no RIGHT to silence me! How DARE you?! I was a CHILD! You abandoned me and...and then went on to have another baby?! What sort of cruelty is this?!”

His mother is crying, by this point, and his father looks panicked. Doors are starting to open up and down the street. Bede doesn’t care about causing a scene - he’s never felt so worthless in all his life. 

A gentle hand curls over his forearm, and Bede nearly throws it off before he realizes it isn’t one belonging to either sorry excuse standing before him. His father swallows. “L...Lady Opal…”

The old woman secures herself to one of Bede’s arms as if she belongs there, and Bede is torn between shaking her off and being eternally grateful. She pats at him, all tenderness. “I think that’s enough.” Opal tells him, softly and kindly. Her eyes hold nothing but sympathy. “Don’t you, little beet? Come now...come home.”

Home.

Ballonlea. Warm blankets. The smell of tea. Painted glass domes over warm lamp light. Purple lace doilies over every surface. Opal.

_ Home. _

He nods, placing a hand over the one she has on his arm. A little face appears once more between the knees of his parents - two strangers, he realizes. Other faces have begun to pop up behind them, but he doesn’t want to stay any longer to see all the similarities in them that he views in the mirror each morning. 

“Bede.” His mother murmurs, pained. He forces himself to look at her; she flinches as if thinking to reach for him. “I’m...I’m so sorry…”

“You should be.” The venom in Opal’s voice shocks him. He stares at her with wide eyes, but she remains laser focused on the man and woman in the doorway. “A Happy Christmas to you. Do remember to be thankful for all you have...and keep in mind those who aren’t as blessed, yes? You will, won’t you?”

The woman looks so deeply ashamed. She nods, chewing her lip. Opal turns her eyes to Bede’s father next, and he too hangs his head in shame. At last, the old woman looks down at the little girl; the poor child looks upset, and Bede’s relieved to see Opal’s ire doesn’t extend to her. “You be a good little girl.” She says, instead, smiling, “Your brother and I will be waiting for your visit.”

“Brother…?” Millie says, and Bede knows immediately that some justice has been done. The girl peers up at the shocked and horrified faces of their parents. “Mummy?”

Bede doesn’t get to hear what they have to say: Opal tugs on him, pulling him around to walk down the steps. “We must take our leave,” She says, as if discussing the weather, “lest we catch our death of cold. Come now, Bede. Back to Ballonlea.”

So Bede goes. In a daze, he doesn’t realize where exactly they’re walking until he’s climbing into one of Galar’s famous flying taxis. He’d ridden his Rapidash all the way here, and hadn’t given any thought to how Opal had arrived. By magic, probably...she’s simply that strange.

He’s no sooner seated than the old woman is reaching for him, a lacey kerchief clutched in one gnarled hand and the other just grazing his jaw. “Come here now…” He flinches instinctively, and Opal waits patiently for him to still before dabbing her handkerchief on his cheeks. “You poor dear...worked yourself up into a right fit. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so emotional. Not that it wasn’t warranted, of course.” 

There’s nothing he can tell her. Instead, he remains quiet and waits for her to finish her fussing. Only when she draws away does he speak up, voice hoarse. “You knew where I was.” Not a question - a statement.

Opal huffs, folding her cloth back into a neat square and tucking it into her coat. “Well, of course I did! Can’t have you wandering off in the cold alone, hm? Far too cold out here…”

Some of his irritation returns. “Stop it.” She stills, and Bede leers at her suspiciously. “How did you know where I was? NO ONE knew who my parents were.”

The old woman watches him, face a perfect mask of calm indifference. Her acting career sticks with her, even after so many years. Finally, Opal softly sighs and leans her tired bones on the weight of her beloved umbrella. “...You seem to think,” She begins as the cab takes off, “that you are a master of hiding your feelings. From an old actress to her prodigy: you aren’t as slick as you think you are, young man.”

“You’ve been walking around with a very dark storm on your shoulders since the first of December.” She goes on, heading off Bede’s demands for her to get to the point, “I had an inkling of what might be the problem. I know all about your time with our ex-chairman...weaseled that out of him myself. Had to, after that mess in Stow-on-Side. The way you carry yourself, the way you act...child, I know. And I won’t assume how you feel about it, other than I know it isn’t good.”

Snow blankets the windows as the Corviknight carrying them weathers the storm. The white clumps cast shadows over Opal’s ancient face. “...You were four, yes? Or was it five?”

Bede doesn’t answer right away. His fingers curl in the fabric of his coat over his legs. “...Four.” He says, finally.

“Four years you spent there, too, before Rose ‘discovered’ you.”

“Yes.”

She nods. “...He told me where it was. Where the church was. I was able to glean the rest from there. I debated going there for some time...at first if I wanted to at all, but then it became if it should be before or after you went.”

“You knew I was going to go, too?”

“I see how you look at families, Bede. I’m old...not senile.”

That’s a good enough point, and Bede lets her have it. “...Why did you come, then?”

Silence. A warm, weathered hand finally grasps for his fingers and holds them in a tight squeeze. When Opal speaks, it is as soft as the snow. “I didn’t want you to do it alone.”

He isn’t sure what to say to that. It takes him several moments to find the will to speak at all without the threat of his voice choking off. “...I...have a sister.”

“She’s quite sweet, yes.” Opal replies. “...Your parents may have wronged you, darling, but that little girl didn’t ask for this.”

“I didn’t either.”

“I know, I know...be kind to her, child. That’s all I ask. Could give less than a Rattata’s arse about your parents, and hmph to them! Yes!” Her indignation makes him laugh in spite of himself, and she relaxes beside him. “Mm. You’re a good boy...you deserve better than that.”

“Do I…?” Bede blurts out, and becomes aware that it’s the first time he’s  _ ever _ voiced such a thing before to anyone. His eyes water afresh. “Do I really? They seem...quite happy. Without…”

The first sob that comes shocks him, because shedding tears is one thing: flat out crying is another. Gnarled fingers immediately settle into his curls and stroke gently down the back of his head. “Oh dear...dear dear dear...Bede…” But there’s no stopping it now, and to his relief Opal doesn’t attempt to put a stop to it. “Of course you deserve better. No child deserves the sort of life you’ve had to live. You’re perfectly within your right to be upset, child...get it all out of your system, Arceus knows you need it.”

So Bede weeps, openly, for perhaps the first time since he was small. Weeps for the child he was, for the life he was forced to have, for the cruel injustice of it all. All the while, Opal’s hands never leave him. She eventually pulls his head down to her shoulder, and he lets her hold him for a while longer. 

“...I won’t make you wait.” She says, finally, and he might be imagining how damp her own voice sounds. “I was going to wait until the holiday, but it seems unfair now. You know the chairman never signed your papers…?”

Bede laughs, a bitter and sour sound. “Of course he didn’t…”

“Shh shh shh...let me finish: I took the liberty of signing them. Couldn’t risk someone coming and taking you away from me, now that I’ve had you, could I?”

It takes an embarrassingly long time for Bede to process that. When he finally does, he draws back at once and holds her at an arm’s length. All he can produce are choked stammers - Opal merely stares back at him, wry smile on her face as if she’s gifted him a lovely sweater instead of her guardianship. When he can’t manage a word, her expression becomes stern. “Now...I’m far too old to be your mother, child, so I’m afraid ‘nan’ will have to do. No ‘grandmama’, yes? Nan sounds a bit younger.”

He almost crushes her with his embrace, and there’s no mistaking her own teary-sounding laugh. Once again, she pets his hair. “You are  _ my _ little beet...now, what say we go home and have some warm tea, hm?”

\---

It’s unspoken tradition for Galar’s Gym Leaders to send out family pictures on their Christmas cards to each other. Milo and a great flock of Wooloo, each with little Stantler bands and big ribbons. Nessa and Sonia building a snowman with Yamper dancing at their heels. Melony and her children, including a sullen Gordie, all wearing matching sweaters. Leon, Hop, Victor, and their families. These are the ones everyone expects to get, and laughs are definitely shared over them.

But one no one expects comes from Ballonlea - delicate pink cards dusted with hints of iridescent glitter. The photo inside is of Opal, of course, as it has been for decades...but beside her, dressed in his best and with an actual smile, is Bede. 

_ ‘Happy Holidays and Good Tidings to all! With warm cheer: the Poplars.’ _

And it is perhaps one of the most lovely gifts anyone receives that year.

_ ~End~ _

**Author's Note:**

> I adore Bede. You can pry the idea that he and Opal are family to one another out of my cold, dead hands.
> 
> \---
> 
> I want to thank each and every one of my readers for sticking with me over the years. I know I don't write very often, and I'm sorry for that. There's no real monumental reason why. I truthfully write quite a lot, but I find myself keeping a lot of these stories to myself now. I wouldn't pin it down as a lack of confidence or anything - it doesn't make me anxious, sharing stories, but I just...don't feel like it a lot of the time. Sometimes I'm just like 'I can do better' or 'I want to explore this more first'. 
> 
> It feels really special to have people come back to these stories year after year, patiently waiting for new ones and responding so enthusiastically when I do put out something fresh. I appreciate you. Being a fan-fiction writer has been a very rewarding experience for me. It's not much, but it makes me happy. Thank you all for being here with me. I hope I can continue to bring you all new stories in the future.
> 
> Happy Holidays, and Happy New Year~


End file.
